ving at the top of
the ravine, Peter ran towards the Tannenbuehl. A terrible thunderstorm
came up; lightning flashed to the right and left, and shattered many
trees, but he reached the Little Glass-Man's territory unharmed.

His heart beat joyfully, because of the very pleasure it seemed to
take in beating. But soon he looked back at his past life with horror,
as at the thunder storm that had shattered the trees behind him. He
thought of Lisbeth, his good and beautiful wife, whom he had murdered
in his avarice. He looked upon himself as an outcast from mankind, and
wept violently as he came to the Glass-Man's hill.

Herr Schatzhauser sat under the pine tree, smoking a small pipe, but
looking more cheerful than before.

"Why do you weep, Charcoal Pete?" asked he. "Did you not get your
heart? Does the cold one still lie in your breast?"

"Alas, Master!" sighed Peter, "when I had the cold stone heart, I never
wept. My eyes were as dry as the earth in July; but now the old heart
is nearly broken in thinking of what I have done. I drove my debtors
into misery and want, set my dogs on the poor and sick, and--you
yourself saw how my whip fell on her beautiful forehead!"

"Peter, you were a great sinner!" said the Little Glass-Man. "Money and
idleness ruined you, until your heart, turned to stone, knew neither
joy nor sorrow, remorse nor pity. But repentance brings pardon, and if
I were only sure that you were very sorry for your past life, I might
do something for you."

"I do not want any thing more," replied Peter, with drooping head. "It
is all over with me. I shall never know happiness again. What can I do,
now that I am alone in the world? My mother will never pardon my
behavior toward her; and perhaps I, monster that I am, have already
brought her to the grave. And Lisbeth, my wife! No; rather kill me,
Herr Schatzhauser, and make an end of my miserable life at once."

"Very well," replied the little man, "if you will have it so; my ax is
close by." He took his pipe quietly from his mouth, knocked out the
ashes, and stuck it in his pocket. Then he rose slowly and went behind
the tree. Peter sat weeping on the grass, caring nothing for his life,
and waiting patiently for the death-blow. After some time he heard
light steps behind him, and thought: "Now he is coming."

"Look round once more, Peter Munk!" shouted the little man. Peter wiped
the tears from his eyes and looked about him, and saw--his mother, and
Lisbe